


Point a Finger

by the_piss_on_ronald_reagans_grave



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I write more like Arthur Conan Doyle :(, This is my first fic ive ever posted be nice to me please, according to that online who do you write like test, anything you’d expect from an among us fic, no editing we die like men, this was for an english assignment, tw for blood; light gore; murder; paranoia, we had to write fanfiction mimicking Poe’s writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_piss_on_ronald_reagans_grave/pseuds/the_piss_on_ronald_reagans_grave
Summary: A man aboard a ship in deep space becomes paranoid at the prospect of a monster being among his crew.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Point a Finger

**Author's Note:**

> ~This was for an English assignment where we had to use 15 out of our 20-something vocab words. I used 16 because extra credit and also to flex how Very Smart I am to the teacher. Anyone who correctly comments the vocab words wins a prize.~

Outer space is austere. Bleak. Gaunt. Desolate. Millions of immeasurable miles upon miles of naught as far as the eye can see. My companions and I were aboard a space-ship, too far away from any other breathing soul and isolated entirely from where we once knew as home, in the name of our duty to advance civilization. To keep the ship up and running was our first and foremost task while data was collected.  
So long away from the life we all once knew is maddening. To be detached from the world so entirely is hell and any sane man would have an aversion to it. Any sane man would strongly refuse to go on this mission.  
Not before long, I grew distrustful of my own crewmates.  
Droplets of blood on the tiles of the cafeteria, glimpses of tentacles in the reflection of windows, and screaming in the night that my crewmates claimed not to hear, all lead me to believe someone among us was not what they seemed. Someone was a monster, a beast, a brute; pretending to be an ordinary astronaut. But for why? What expedient goal does this creature have? What immoral obligation? What sinister motivation? To sabotage our mission? To send us to our doom in deep space? For whatever reason, among us was an Imposter.

Days passed and I spoke to the other crewmates so little, I soon forgot their own names. I began identifying them by the colors they wore: white, red, orange, bright-green, cyan, blue, pink, or yellow. I dreaded the idea of one of my companions haunting me while I was accomplishing a task, and taking my life before giving me the chance to react. Throughout the day, when I passed crewmates, I could tell they were glaring at me in disapprobation for my anti-social behavior. Though I could not see their visages under the helmets we all wore, I could tell when they were sneering or frowning. I knew that avoiding my own peers was lacking propriety, but I could not care for societal convention if my own life and the lives of my crewmates were at risk.

The idea of the Imposter became a chimera that haunted my every thought, a monster I could never find and would never be capable of defeating. Nonetheless, I stayed vigilant and looked for any anomalous behavior amongst rooms I knew my companions had left. Any drop of blood, any broken wires, any sabotaged machinery, anything out of the ordinary could point to who the Imposter is. The more odd things I saw-- visions of tentacles and claws in glass reflection, hallucination of my crewmate’s helmets cracked or smeared with blood-- the more I began to repress memories. I would begin a task, only for something to cause me to black out. When I came back to consciousness, the task would be complete. I prayed for the cessation of this madness, the day I could rest easy amongst my peers knowing this paranoia was over and the ship was safe.

Then, one afternoon, I stood, tapping away at the keypad in the room labelled O2. Then, there came a beeping. Red flashing lights glared and I rushed out of the room to find the source of the rapturous noise and awful lights. I tried to escape the sound and lights, but it pervaded throughout the ship, impossible to escape. Then I saw several crewmates rushing to the room I had just exited. Oxygen had been depleted, orange, cyan, and bright-green clad crewmates rushed to fix it before we all suffocated. Within half a minute, the ship was safe again, but my mind was not. Someone had been in that room with me. That is the only explanation. Someone was with me and depleted the oxygen while I was preoccupied with the keypad. He must have moved through the ventilation system. I had been in the vents before, and never again would I return.

As days continued, I couldn't bear to even be in the same room as my companions. I knew if one of them were to attack me, we were too isolated for any rescue or at least avenging. The only man aboard the ship I trusted was the red-clad astronaut. His fidelity to the crew was proven time and time again, through his dedication to his assignments and loyalty to the crewmates he valued close. He had been appointed as our leader on the mission, and we all idolized and esteemed him.

The fateful day came when I heard clattering behind me, while working in the room labelled as Electrical. Clamoring came from behind me, and I was sure it was coming from the vents. I knew the Imposter could travel by vent, and now terrified for my life, I abandoned my task and ran. I ran for hours in circles, but I scarcely remember what happened, until I arrived once again in Electrical, where I saw on the ground, the White-clad astronaut’s body, writhing in pain as he bled out from a gaping hole in his abdomen. I stared at the pool of blood surrounding the body. And suddenly I understood something. 

I reported the death to my crewmates.  
Cyan, Orange, and Bright-Green were missing. I suppose the Imposter got them too. My crewmates listened to me attentively. They understood White’s injury could not have been caused by something Earthly. All at once, they understood the threat of the Imposter.  
That’s when I accused the Red-clad astronaut of being the Imposter.  
It was blasphemous to accuse the member of our team who had been our venerated leader; something so outlandish and disrespectful would never be believed. But I had to make them believe me, or all of us would be doomed.  
When I pointed my finger at Red; my only remaining companions: Blue, Pink, and Yellow, deemed it equivocal, doubtful, and suspicious. Until I reminded them that I was the one to find White’s body, and the first person to be wary of an Imposter. With restored confidence in my sagacity and judgement, my companions grabbed Red and threw him out of the airlock.  
My crewmates removed their helmets, and I saw no confidence in their faces. I saw fear, and confusion. I didn’t quite understand.

But as I watched Red drift away, I felt no comfort, no relief, no alleviation. And I realized what I had done. Before long, Red would lose all oxygen and perish, but he was not the Imposter.  
Repressed memories came flooding black, of intemperment bloodlust, unrestrained violence, memories of the shattered bodies of my companions and damnation of the whole crew. 

I looked down and stared at the blood on my own hands. I was the Imposter.

**Author's Note:**

> “When you point a finger, there are three more pointing back at you”


End file.
